Ég á Líf
by EternallyJaded
Summary: "I glide above every hardship, I am alive, I am alive. When the winds turn against me, I climb over the high mountains, I am alive, I am alive." One Shot. My take on Iceland's 2013 Eurovision entry.


The air was sharp and clear as it whipped around Iceland's lithe body, rushing eagerly past him and out to sea. He walked slowly across the cold shore, placing one shoeless foot in front of the other leaving a light trail of footprints in the black sand. Although it was freezing and he wore a wool scarf pulled tight around his throat over his usual brown coat and neck-tie he insisted on walking barefoot to feel the cool grains against his lowly aching feet.

Mr Puffin swooped against the grey sky, his own bow-tie fluttering as he made a dive towards the surface of the dark ocean and circled back over Iceland's head so he stayed close to the wandering boy. Iceland was grateful for his ever-present company, even if he couldn't voice it. Just to to be near another living creature was enough, sometimes preferable even to certain other presences. Besides, times like these when they walked quietly Iceland was sure he could hear his words on the wind or the sound of his feathers through the silence.

As they continued, sharp rocks began to rise dark and jagged across the skyline, crawling slowly towards them. By the time they had come close enough that smaller rocks had begun to litter the ground under his feet, Iceland was sure that the whisperings he had been hearing were not from Mr Puffin after all. The sound drifted over the rocks, sweet and haunting and somehow unscathed by the harsh landscape.

Before he knew it, the ground had become sloped and smooth under his feet and he found himself scrambling over the rocks, desperate to find the origin of the noise. As he approached the top of the cluster he realised that it was music which had been guiding him. The voice was soft beautiful yet it disguised an audible power lying just under the surface. It was the kind of voice that should belong to a merman or nymph or water spirit and Iceland increased the speed of his climb in unconscious excitement.

But when his silvery head broke past the highest point and he was able to see dark shores for miles below there was only one figure breaking the emptiness. And even from this distance Iceland could tell he was a human. His disappointment was short lived however as from below the man began to sing again. It only took a few notes before he recognised the tune as an old folk song of his and an awkward smile settled onto his delicate features momentarily. He edged closer to hear the beautiful song, sliding gently down the interlinking hexagons on the dark grey cliff face until he found a large flat one, sheltered on three sides by the high rocks. By now he was just above the man's head height and could he hear his ethereal voice entirely untainted as well as make out his shoulder length blond hair and scruffy beard, protected by a woollen hat and long, sweeping coat. Mr Puffin landed next to him and settled in to listen from their hiding place.

_Lagði ég af stað í það langa ferðalag  
ég áfram gekk í villu eirðarlaus  
Hugsaði ekki um neitt, ekki fram á næsta dag  
Einveru og friðsemdina kaus  
Ég á líf, ég á líf._

_yfir erfiðleika svíf  
Ég á líf, ég á líf vegna þín  
Þegar móti mér blæs  
yfir fjöllin há ég klíf  
Ég á líf, ég á líf, ég á líf._

The man worked on his small boat for a very long time, placing fish into coolers and folding nets and scrubbing the deck and the bows thoroughly, singing the whole time. Each note slipped easily into the next and despite the physical work his voice never once wavered with exertion. Iceland was utterly enchanted and each time he closed his eyes the magical sounds took him to tall forests and cool lakes and warm rooms which he was not sure were imaginary or drawn from vague memories of long ago. By the time the last clear, quavering word tailed off into the icy breeze he had almost been lulled to sleep and it was with much sadness his violet eyes fluttered open again in time to see the man retreating down the beach.

"Wait!" Iceland called before he had time to restrain himself; his quiescent voice held no real demand or control but the fisherman turned back obliging. He could see his confusion as he searched for the voice which must have been so familiar to him although he he never heard it before. Iceland sighed to himself and stood as the man finally looked up and saw him on his perch. A brief expression of concern crossed his face before he dropped his heavy equipment and made his way towards Iceland, as though to assist him down. Before he could reach him, the nation leapt gracefully onto the sand below and landed in a motion resembling a small bow at his feet. He did not seem perturbed by the movement, or even the boy's obvious lack of shoes

"You have a lovely voice," The words seemed quiet and inadequate but he found he had nothing else to say. The man didn't smile but the corners of his blue eyes crinkled happily; he seemed to understand the wordless exchange which ran below their mother language.

"Thank you."

"I listened to you sing." Silly as it was, Iceland could not stop the embarrassment which washed over him at the admission and he hoped that the man didn't notice. If it did, however, he didn't show it, simply nodding as if he had been aware of his presence the entire time, although he couldn't possibly have been.

There was a pause. Iceland didn't know what to say. He wanted to hear the man sing again but he knew he couldn't keep his talent to himself, locked away in his lonely house. It was selfish. Too selfish. He sighed again.

The man waited patiently in the silence, quietly reading his reservations and giving him time to find the way to express them. Mr Puffin flew from their makeshift nest and perched lightly on Iceland's shoulder, staring at him with a sentience and intensity he had only ever seen in that bird. He was telling him something.

A sudden inspiration hit him and his eyes snapped back to the man as he studied him properly. He was odd and distant and definitely not traditional but he held a certain eccentric beauty and Iceland thought he might just be perfection.

"Have you ever sang before? For other people?"

"A few performances in stage shows," He rumbled with a nod, "Nothing major."

"In that case, I have a job for you." He turned towards the rocks as Mr Puffin took off, starting back towards Iceland's house far around the shore. He stopped at the base of the cliff to fix a commanding glance at the fisherman who had returned to collect his belongings from the black beach.

"Follow me."

* * *

This is about Iceland's 2013 Eurovision entry, 'Ég á Líf' by Eyþór Ingi Gunnlaugsson (Eythor Ingi).

Obviously this isn't really how it happened but I like to imagine it was ^-^ A beautiful song and a wonderful singer.

_I set out upon that long journey  
I walked on lost and restless  
Didn't think about anything until the following day.  
I chose peace and tranquillity.  
I am alive, I am alive._

_I glide above every hardship  
I am alive, I am alive.  
When the winds turn against me  
I climb over the high mountains  
I am alive, I am alive._


End file.
